


Kiss, Marry, Kill

by Starshot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Crack Treated Seriously, Happy Ending, I feel like that should be an advertisement not a warning, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Marriage, its brief and violent but he definitely deserves it, spoiler alert the character death is Alexander Pierce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 12:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20309377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starshot/pseuds/Starshot
Summary: The Winter Soldier mishears a mission instruction to “kill Captain America” as “kiss Captain America”. Chaos ensues. Alexander Pierce is not happy about it. Steve Rogers on the other hand…(Or: the events of The Winter Soldier turn out a little differently.)





	Kiss, Marry, Kill

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic came from this tumblr post: https://morse-----coder.tumblr.com/post/184888464298/hydra
> 
> And just to clarify in case you missed the tags - Bucky gets a little pissed off at Alexander Pierce. His death is very quick (about two sentences) and I personally wouldn't call it graphic, but I appreciate everyone's definitions of that differ. The last thing I want is for anyone to feel like they haven't been appropriately warned! Otherwise I hope you all enjoy reading this :)

The screen illuminates Rumlow’s face, a blue-white beacon of radiance amidst the sickly green fluorescence that glitters off thousands of tiny floor-ceiling safety deposit boxes lining the walls around them.

“Put him on,” the voice on the laptop commands.

A flicker crosses Rumlow’s face, not a frown as-such, but the same tells. A slight tightening of his brows and jaw. Hesitation, and the way he presses his lips together like there’s something he wants to say, but he’s not entirely sure how. Finally, a grimace as he glances briefly at the asset. “Are you sure Mr. Secretary? The connection isn’t very good in here with the vault shielding, and his mind’s already beginning to slip again. My team and I could…"

The asset watches their exchange flatly. Rumlow thinks he’s a good soldier - but he’s not. Too susceptible to his emotions, too narcissistic to know his own limitations. He’s a pit bull – the kind of mindless force you unleash on your enemies when getting the job done sloppy is better than not getting it done at all. But if you need something done quickly, efficiently, and to a time constraint, you don’t send a pit bull – you send a lone wolf.

A winter soldier.

The voice on the other end of the line turns sharp, every syllable enunciated with icy clarity. “Agent Rumlow, _listen_ to what I’m saying. I have a problem to contain. One that might blow the lid off our entire operation if it’s not taken care of quickly. I don’t _care_ what the state of his mind is, all I need are his skills.”

“But sir, the white-coats are saying if we don’t wipe him again there’s a risk—"

There’s a noise of barely contained frustration. “Jesus Christ! Would one of you in that goddamn room actually listen to me? Put the asset on before I fire you all and—” the transmission garbles and stutters, “—your asses— next Sunday!”

A tendon stands out in Rumlow’s neck. “Yes sir,” he says, casting a filthy look at the asset, before spinning the laptop to face his side of the table. “New orders sleeping beauty.” It comes out with a distinctive sneer. 

There’s an older man on screen. Suit, tie, authoritative. The asset recognises him. This is the one who gives the orders. Whose word is law.

The man addresses him. “Soldier.”

Briefly flexing his metal fingers, the asset reaffirms their functionality. The last mission was challenging. The arm was tested. But it endures; as does he. “I am ready to comply.”

“Good.”

The man on the screen shows signs of stress. Damp patches under his armpits. Elevated breathing. This is abnormal. But it is not the asset’s job to question his masters. His job is to comply. To do the work the world needs done and disappear back into the shadows as though he never was. And his record is unblemished. His missions always a success.

“The man you met on your last mission,” his master asks, “Captain America – do you remember him?”

The asset tries to recall. Memories are broken, fragmented things for him. Some as clear as the winter ice in the lakes in Siberia, others clouded and muddy as though dredged up from the depths of the polluted Moskva river in Moscow. The blurry ones always hurt the most – hazy and shrouded like he shouldn’t recall them but—

_Captain America_ \- the man with the shield, who’d fought back hard. With steel blue eyes and blond hair and a smile that could steal your heart. The little guy from Brooklyn who was always too dumb to back down from a fight. _Ste—_

It’s like a white-hot knife straight into his skull. He gasps, gripping his head with both hands. But as quickly as the memory it arrives, it’s gone.

That’s not meant to keep happening. Is he broken? Defective somehow?

Rumlow snorts. “See sir?”

The man on the screen pauses, considering. “I see,” he says, “But the we have no other choice. Will it hold?”

The transmission breaks up again as Rumlow confers with one of the white coats, picture returning to normal just as he responds, “Previous records suggest another day or so sir. At most.”

“Long enough.” The man rubs his temple, looking back to the asset, mouth a hard line. “Soldier, your new mission is to ki— Captain America, do you understand?” Static cuts across the line, fading his words to a dull hiss.

The asset frowns. The instruction was unclear. But he will comply, as he has been trained to do. “My mission is to… kiss Captain America?”

The secretary’s face falls. “Jesus, no. You will k— rica.”

The command is still unclear. But from the man’s agitation, it is obvious this mission is of the utmost importance. The task is strange, the soldier can’t see how it will help. But it is not his place to question. Only to obey.

“I will kiss Captain America, I understand.”

Something in his master seems to snap. “Fuck! Rumlow, _fix_ this or else—"

The connection finally drops out, leaving Rumlow sniggering in the corner with his men. He slams the lid of the laptop down and leans over it, breath hot in the asset’s face. “As amused as I am by all of this, your instructions are to _kill_ Captain America. Got it?”

The asset stands. This man is not in charge. He does not have the authority. Gripping him by the throat and he slams Rumlow’s head against the nearest group of deposit boxes – not hard enough to damage him, but enough to act as a warning. “You do not give orders. My mission is to _kiss_ Captain America. I _will_ comply.”

With that he tosses Rumlow to the ground and exits the facility, removing all obstructions that stand in his way.

An agitated shout comes from somewhere behind him. “Move you fucking idiots! You heard Pierce. Go after him. Stop him!”

* * *

The late model sedan glides smoothly along the freeway with Sam at the wheel. The mission to out Jasper Sitwell as a HYDRA mole and discover the purpose of Zola’s algorithm went remarkably well Steve thinks, even if the information he divulged about the truth of Project Insight came as a shock to them all. There’s less than an hour left now before they arrive at the Triskelion – not long for him to mastermind a plan to stop it, relying only on himself, Natasha, and Sam, against who knows how many HYDRA sleeper agents inside SHIELD ranks.

The task would be a lot easier if the man in the back seat would keep his mouth shut for more than thirty seconds at a time too. Natasha _had_ offered to gag Sitwell when they took him in but Steve refused, citing humane treatment of political prisoners. Now he’s starting to think he should have taken her up on it. The threats of HYDRA retaliation are getting old fast.

Natasha toes at the back of his seat. “I have another question for you Rogers.”

She doesn’t sound the slightest bit serious, despite their situation. Steve fights the urge to tell her to keep her feet off the upholstery of this car too, and wins – just. “Is this another one of those ones I don’t have to answer, but you’re going to judge me if I don’t?”

“You make me sound like a terrible person.”

Brows raised, Steve turns to look at her. _Then prove you’re not about to make my life difficult somehow._

Her mouth pulls into a sly grin he just absolutely knows means trouble. “Okay, it kind of is. But I’m curious. Who was it?”

Steve frowns. “Who was what?”

“Your first since 1945.”

She’s definitely smirking now, and Steve is absolutely _not_ going to answer that. No matter how liberal things might be these days, he doesn’t think he’s ready to admit to having hooked up in a gay bar yet. Especially not in front of a captured HYDRA sleeper agent, in the middle of what might be their most important mission since the fight in New York two years ago. “I don’t kiss and tell Romanov.”

“Oh come on!” she cajoles.

“Gentlemen don’t brag about that kind of thing.”

“How about sharing with a friend?”

“Nope, sorry.”

It is smart of her to use their earlier conversation about being friends against him now. Regardless, this is one story he’s not willing to share yet, because it comes with _baggage_. Something very close to his heart that never went down in any history books about Captain America.

Natasha leans back with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “I’ll take it this little tryst didn’t amount to anything then?”

“We didn’t meet again if that’s what you mean.”

Her lips quirk up, quick and devious. “Not enough shared life experience?”

He flashes back to the man’s messy dark hair and expressive long-lashed eyes, so like Bucky’s but unmistakeably not Bucky’s, and the way he hadn’t been able to not see his long-dead lover in everything the guy did. How they’d kissed and Steve had closed his eyes - wishing more than anything else it was still 1945, and he was kissing Bucky instead. How he’d ended up getting all teary into his drink afterward when he realised it wasn’t, and he never could again.

As understanding as the guy had been, no one needed that from a stranger on a night out.

“Something like that.” He squares his shoulders at the memory. Not something he plans on trying again in a hurry. Though he supposes he’ll have to eventually. Maybe.

Natasha grins. “Maybe you should broaden your horizons. Bowls clubs, retirement villages, that kind of thing? I mean, people don’t really judge as much these days you know…"

He can’t really fault her for not taking it seriously. If he told her the truth, she’d probably ease up – but that would mean sharing, and he doesn’t want to. Bucky, the way Steve remembers him – beautiful and dangerous, all blood-hot lips and possessive whispers in the dark, pliable and needy as he moans into Steve’s skin – is something which belongs to him, and nobody else. “Natasha—”

Sam glances between them irritably. “Would one of you _please_ tell me what you’re talking about?”

“Rogers’ lack of a love life apparently.”

“Hey,” Steve objects half-heartedly. So much for ninety-five, not dead.

There’s a protracted groan from the back seat. Sitwell. “Has anyone ever told you people you have problems?”

Sam snorts. “Not as many as you buddy,” he retorts.

“Yeah, if I were a captured traitor to my country, I’d probably try to keep my mouth shut.” Natasha adds ironically.

“The only traitors here are you,” Sitwell snaps. “HYDRA doesn’t like leaks.”

“So why don’t you try sticking a cork in it,” Sam suggests with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

As though prompted by Sitwell’s antagonism, Natasha seems to decide now is the right time to inject some cold hard logic back into the conversation. She leans into the space between the front seats. “Insight’s launching in sixteen hours, we are cutting it a little close here."

As if any of them could forget. Steve’s already planning miles ahead, despite the distractions. “I know. We’ll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the Helicarriers directly,” he says, barely listening Sitwell’s objections. When they reach the Triskelion they’ll need to—

There’s a thud on the roof. The sound of shattering glass. He glances back—

An empty seat and the jagged remains of a broken window are all that remain where Sitwell used to be, as the man himself disappears into the path of an oncoming truck. Steve’s mouth drops open.

Then the gunshots begin.

* * *

The asset stares down the trio taking cover amidst the debris on the highway, assessing how best to achieve his goal. The mission objective is simple – kiss Captain America – but to do that he’s going to need to separate him from the two accompanying him.

A well-aimed explosive charge disables Captain America straight away, sending him flying off the side of the causeway and into a bus. It won’t be more than temporary, but the asset judges it will take him out of the picture long enough to deal with his companions.

Of the two, the man shouldn’t be a problem. From his movements – the caution he’s showing, taking cover and returning fire sparingly – he’s only human. Not a threat. The woman however…

The asset lobs a grenade to occupy the man while he goes after her. Somewhere inside his mess of a mind something primal is screaming danger. It’s in her mannerisms – precision and absolute control in the face of danger. He recognises it. Structure and discipline, qualities all too familiar, even without her striking red hair and fine-boned features.

A widow, and underestimating her could be the last thing he ever does.

She’s tricky though, evading him, ducking and weaving behind cover in the mayhem they’re causing on the road beneath the highway, even setting up a distraction using a pre-recorded message to catch him by surprise in a chokehold when he moves to neutralise it. He loses his goggles to a well-placed shot, any pretence of composure following soon after. All around them people are abandoning their cars and running for their lives from the gunfire and destruction they’re leaving in their wake.

Winter Soldiers might be trained for precision, but it’s not in their mission to minimise collateral damage unless instructed, and in the end, that’s how he gets her – a disabling shot to the shoulder while her attention is divided helping civilians flee. Clearly, she’s forgotten the most basic aspect of her training. People are expendable, if the circumstances demand it.

The other man moves to help her, firing a pistol at the asset until his ammo runs dry. Disgusted, he throws the gun to the ground, but still doesn’t stand down. A quick glance at the injured woman behind him and he rolls his eyes, raises his fists and says, “I guess we’re doing this the old fashioned way then huh?”

For a moment the asset pauses. It’s not the stupidest thing he’s ever seen, close but—

_“Give up already”_

_“No... I can do this all day.”_

There’s a throbbing in his head, a formidable pressure stronger than the force of his prosthetic arm threatening to break through, but before he can get a hold on it, chase it down the rabbit hole – because he always does, even when he knows he shouldn’t, when he’s programmed not to – the target is standing between him and his quarry, shield held loosely on his forearm. 

He’s watching the asset with calm determination, and the asset knows he won’t make the first move, won’t fight back unless he or his friends are threatened. But if they are, he won’t give up. 

It’s not going to be an easy fight.

But a Soldier is never sent when the fight is going to be easy. Soldiers exist to complete the difficult missions necessary for the good of the world.

He _will_ kiss Captain America.

He charges forward and Captain America ducks beneath his punch and swings right back, a glancing blow easily deflected by the metal of the asset’s arm. A lunge here, a counter there, and the weight of a shield that sits oddly familiar in his hands as he flings it back, defence transformed into a deadly assault that embeds it deep into a van by the target's head.

He looks surprised by that, but the asset isn’t going to give him time to react, following it up with a quick flurry of knife blows, aiming to wear him down into submission. It’s an intensely physical hand to hand exchange of super-human strength, fought on a battlefield of chaotic wreckage, neither prepared to give an inch to the other.

But for all Captain America’s strengths, he’s predictable. He fights with honour and consideration for the people around him. The asset fights dirty, using every advantage he can, as his training has taught him to do.

That gives Captain America a weakness.

Identifying an opening, the asset tackles the target, grappling his waist and throwing them both to the ground. Straddling his hips, he presses his metal forearm into Captain America’s neck, pinning him down.

Victory.

Still, he senses no fear from the target, just a reckless defiance that burns bright in his vivid blue eyes. Removing the straps of the muzzle his handlers use to conceal his identity and throwing it away, the asset leans over him. A sharp flicker of something – disbelief, or horror perhaps – crosses Captain America's face, bleeding the tension from his limbs with a rough shudder, leaving him limp and unresisting beneath the asset.

It doesn’t make sense. He must know he’s lost, yet he isn’t fighting back. His brows knit into troubled little creases, lips forming a gentle downturn as his eyes rove across the asset’s face. “Bucky?” he asks, quiet and unsure.

But the asset doesn’t know any ‘Bucky’. “Who the hell is Bucky?” he demands, the name sitting uncomfortably on his lips. As though there’s some great significance to it, but he can’t quite remember what.

Defiance and steely resolve make a slow return to Captain America’s expression. “You’re my friend,” he insists, a little more certain.

The asset narrows his eyes, considering it. Friendship is a foreign concept. Winter Soldiers do not have friends. Only handlers and masters. A poor ploy to distract him then. But it will not deter his mission. He leans down until he’s eye to eye with the target, growling, “You’re my mission.”

The briefest flash of surprise passes across Captain America’s features before the asset takes his lips in a crude approximation of a kiss.

And whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t _this_.

The sensation shoots through him, from the tingling roots of his hair, to the way his toes curl. It’s _good_. Familiar. He used to do this with someone…

A hand slides to his lower back – dredging up memories of nights in a dingy too-small apartment with someone a lot smaller than this man. Of wiping sweat from a burning forehead, holding water to cracked lips, and later a cot in a canvas tent that sagged and creaked beneath their combined bulk. The cinnamon-rich taste of a sweet little mouth, and the way his tongue yielded beneath the asset’s own, no fight, not for him, never for him—

_“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, three two five five seven zero three eight… You might wanna be more careful about which fights you pick, if you don’t want your ass kicked again… I don’t care if they find out about us, I want this… It’s you Stevie, it’s always been you…”_

He _is_ Bucky. Bucky is _him_.

And Captain America is—

It hits him with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. “Steve?” he gasps, pulling away, terrified. It’s too much. He _feels_ too much to contain. How can one person keep this depth of emotion inside them? It feels like he’s going to drown under the sheer depth of it, sink to the bottom of the ocean and never surface again.

But Steve rolls them over so he’s on top, pressing Bucky into the ground with reassuring weight. He cups Bucky’s face gently, pushing aside his hair and tracing a long artist’s fingers over his features with unbelievable softness. “Hey, hey, there you are Buck,” he soothes, “It’s alright, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

There’s a dark part of Bucky that’s screaming bloody murder, doing its best to tear and claw its way out of the corruption in his mind which acknowledges no master other than death. It’s a visceral, red-hot pain, ripping across nerves and synapses, and he squeezes his eyes shut. It can’t be true. It’s just another dream, he’s _not_ going back into that machine again, he _can’t_._ It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…_

It’s only when Steve grips his shoulders, knuckles white, he realises he’s been saying everything out loud.

“_Look_ at me Buck. This is real. I’m here, and they’re never taking you away from me again.”

And Bucky wants to believe him, but he’s not supposed to trust, to feel, to care… “Do you promise?” he chokes out brokenly.

There’s nothing in Steve’s expression that doesn’t look genuine, edging a little towards tortured even. “I promise. ‘Till the end of the line, remember?”

And Bucky _does_. Remembers missing the funeral because some defiant little shit was determined he didn’t need the support of his best friend. That he could look after himself, didn’t need handouts or even a place to stay… Then he’s sobbing into Steve’s shoulder, and Steve’s crying too, and they’re folded around each other, and it hurts, but it’s _right_. Everything he’s been missing all these long years.

And just like that he knows with absolute clarity, he’s never going back. HYDRA can go fuck themselves.

Or he’ll do it for them.

* * *

Nat stares at the scene unfolding in front of her and Sam. There was definitely some confusion to begin with, Steve had evidently been caught by surprise. But if he really wanted the Winter Soldier off him, he could have done it by now. Vaguely she wonders if they shouldn’t do something to intervene, but the whole situation is a little like watching a car crash in slow motion – shocking and surprising, but not something within her power to stop. Especially not with one hell of bruise beginning to blossom on her shoulder beneath the bulletproof vest she was lucky enough to be wearing. 

“Rogers, report!” a voice in her ear demands.

Maria on their recently restored comm link, sounding more than a little strained. Apparently Pierce’s decision to label Captain America a fugitive and order his apprehension has caused some serious shit to go down at SHIELD. Agents arrested for insubordination and resistance amid suspicions of an enemy force within their own ranks that has seen headquarters descend into paranoid chaos – every person out for themselves. Maria fled with several trustworthy agents, travelling to a safe location from which – now enlightened to the nature of Project Insight and HYDRA’s infiltration of SHIELD – she’s been doing her best to coordinate an official response. 

Sam stares straight ahead, eyes glued to the spectacle in front of them, his dubious expression almost an exact match for the way Nat feels. “He’s uh, a little tied up at the moment ma’am,” he tells Maria, tone unsteady.

“Wilson, Romanov, what’s going on there?” she demands.

Nat and Sam share a look. What _is_ going on? One second the Winter Soldier was kicking all their asses, the next minute he’s got Steve stretched out and pinned to the ground, _kissing_ him like it’s prom night and their parents aren’t home. And the weirdest part of all is that Steve’s not even fighting back. The opposite of fighting back actually, if Nat knows anything at all – and even if she didn’t, Sam’s face is an open book. He sees it too.

They watch as the Winter Soldier slides a knee between Steve’s thighs.

Nat clears her throat. “Maria, the situation is… flexible right now.”

“Flexible?” Sam whispers to her, waggling his brows. “Did you really have to?”

Nat shrugs. She knows all about seduction training from her Red Room days, and this is textbook. But she didn’t think that was part of the soldier’s training. He wasn’t that kind of weapon. And this wasn’t that kind of mission. Or at least it hadn’t been until a few moments ago. Since seduction usually worked best _before_ you’d tried to kill the target. 

“How else do you expect me to describe _that_?” she retorts at Sam in a harsh whisper, pointing a thumb in their direction.

Sam pouts, but doesn’t argue. He _can’t _really, not when Steve is giving as good as he gets. One of his hands is free now and he’s not wasting any time, settling it at the small of the soldier’s back, pulling him closer. A few minutes ago Nat would have picked Cap as a 95 year old virgin, but it’s looking increasingly like he isn’t as straightforward as he seems. Or _straight_ at all for that matter. Like she’s been barking up the wrong tree entirely trying to set him up with women.

Which would be infinitely more amusing if it didn’t mean him making out with a dangerous assassin who’s just tried to kill them all.

“When you say flexible—”

The soldier moves to pull away and Steve wraps his legs around him, flipping them so he’s on top with the soldier pinned beneath, stroking the hair from his face with a disarming gentleness.

“What she means is Cap’s on top of things,” Sam supplies with a smirk, pleased by his own joke.

She rolls her eyes at him and he gives a carefree shrug as if to say _you started it_. 

But she’s still on edge because this is the _Winter Soldier_ they’re dealing with. Ruthless, unstoppable, capable of anything - and there’s a sympathetic ache in the old wound in her gut to prove it. This could all be a trick to lull them into a false sense of security. Unusual way of going about it, but not the strangest thing she’s ever seen.

There’s nothing to indicate that though. He’s is still immobile beneath Steve, lank hair revealing just enough of his face to see the expression of confusion, even pain in his features as he gazes up at Steve like he’s the only person in the entire world. His lips move, and it’s too quiet to hear, but Steve’s mouth forms a cautious smile, and he says something that causes the soldier relax a little more beneath him.

Sam fidgets beside her. “That’s it, I’m going over there,’ he declares.

She grabs him by the arm. “Don’t. Whatever’s going on is between the two of them. If you interrupt, it could trigger him to return the way he was before. You have to trust that Rogers knows what he’s doing.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot upward. “You expect me to believe him making out with an internationally wanted assassin is intentional?”

Nat can’t help a smirk as she tilts her head at them – the soldier’s arms in a tight embrace round Steve’s neck, tears running down both their cheeks as they kiss again. “Looks pretty intentional to me.”

Sam follows her gesture and his eyes boggle. “Well now I really have seen everything.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on there!” Maria snaps.

“The situation is… contained,” Nat says, mostly truthfully.

“And the threat?”

“Is uh… neutralised, I think?”

“You managed to kill the Winter Soldier?”

“Not… exactly,” Sam says, sharing another look with her.

“Not exactly? What does that even mean? He’s been incapacitated?”

Nat presses her lips together, drawing on all her intelligence experience, and concluding even it can’t help her explain what’s going on here. “In a manner of speaking… Sorry ma’am, but I think you’re going to have to ask Cap to explain this one.”

Sam gives her a thumbs up. Clearly, he has no more idea how to deal with this than she does.

There’s frustrated a sigh at the other end of the line. “We’ll be there shortly. Just make sure he doesn’t escape in the meantime.”

Nat glances at the way the soldier and Steve are wrapped around each other, like they’re never going to let go. The way they fit together is familiar, like a couple who’ve had years to learn each other’s idiosyncrasies. In all her years of training and black ops, she’s never seen anything like the way he snapped out of his conditioning. Once upon a time she had thought there was someone beneath his blank façade back in the Red Room, brief snatches of humanity that momentarily overcame the emptiness in his eyes. But for Steve to bring it out like that shouldn’t be possible. They had to _mean_ something to each other. 

“I don’t think there’s any danger of that,” she tells Maria, as surprised by her own confidence as she is concerned by its implication.

* * *

Steve swallows uneasily. Natasha’s staring at Bucky with narrow-eyed suspicion. It probably is fair though he thinks. After all, Bucky _did_ just try to kill her.

“So Rogers, you wanna explain this one?” she asks, turning the stone-cold assassin’s glare to him instead.

He squirms. This is exactly the kind of awkward situation he was trying to avoid in the car only minutes ago. Now it’s compounded a hundred-fold by the revelation that his long presumed dead best friend and lover was actually captured and turned to work for the other side during the decades Steve was frozen. As if Captain America being bi wasn’t going to be enough for the world to swallow. “So um, you guys went to the Smithsonian exhibit, right?” he asks lightly, trying not to sound like he’s about to drop the equivalent of a nuclear warhead into the conversation.

“Yeah” Sam says, looking suspiciously like he knows anyway and dreads what’s coming.

Steve can relate. “Well, this is Bucky.” He pulls Bucky forward, arm looped through his like he’s introducing a date to his family. Which, in a weird kind of way, he supposes he is.

Natasha’s calculating gaze turns quickly back to Bucky, but Sam’s expression is still saying he thinks Steve might be more than a little nuts. It’s probably not the first case of delusion he’s seen in returning soldiers, especially relating to a lost comrade-in-arms. 

“Ok wait wait, slow down,” he says. “I thought your friend Bucky died? And even if he didn’t, he’d have to be what, ninety-five, ninety-six by now? He’d be in a retirement home playing bingo, not standing here looking like he just walked out of an infomercial for bodybuilding classes at a Russian gym.”

“Yeah I know it sounds crazy but,’ Steve sweeps a hand over himself by way of proof, “stranger things have happened right?”

Sam still seems unconvinced though. “With all due respect Cap, _you_ didn’t try to kill us.”

It’s a fair point, and Steve does his best to look halfway sympathetic while also not losing it over the way Natasha and Bucky seem to be carrying on a whole conversation in antagonistic glares beside him. It could mean anything at all – that Natasha’s decided she likes him, or that she’s about to make an attempt on his life. Though he really hopes it’s the former. They’ve been fighting enough people today without turning on each other too, and if it really comes down to it, he already knows which side he’s on.

He grips Bucky a little tighter. “I didn’t get captured and brainwashed by the Soviets. Bucky hasn’t exactly had the easiest run of things…” He feels guilty even as he says it, because the fact it happened at all was his fault. He’d just assumed the worst. Not even gone back to check…

Natasha’s hand settles decisively over the gun at her hip. “Steve, I know you’re not gonna want to hear this, but as your friend, step away from the brainwashed assassin.”

Bucky looks unsettled, like a frightened animal, and there’s no way Steve can betray him now. Whatever’s been done to him, he broke through his conditioning. Bucky’s in there, Steve knows it. He steps between them, holding his arms out protectively.

“Natasha I know what it looks like, but he’s my _friend_.”

She shakes her head. “No, no he’s not. He’s a weapon. Believe me, I know. This could be a ploy to infiltrate SHIELD, or to get close enough to hurt you—”

Steve clicks his tongue in frustration. “If he wanted to do that, he could have done it already!”

“Steve, I’m asking as a friend. Trust me on this.”

“Sam?”

Sam looks thrown by the whole situation, but he takes a step closer to Natasha. “Yeah look Steve, I really have no idea what’s going on here. Brainwashed assassins and HYDRA plots aren’t exactly my speciality. But I’m pretty sure when a guy tries to kill you, you don’t just let that slide.”

“He wasn’t really trying to kill me, he was trying to— well you saw. And he’s my _friend_,” Steve repeats, like it’s the only thing that matters. And if they can’t accept that, he doesn’t know what he’ll do, because all he knows is he’s not leaving Bucky alone ever again.

Natasha’s scowl deepens, and he can see her working it over in her mind. “Can your friend speak for himself?”

She emphasises the word ‘friend’ in a tone Steve doesn’t like. But Bucky steps forward, giving him a familiar look Steve knows means he’s got this. For a second he marvels at how so much can change, yet also nothing at all. Apart for decades and already it’s like slipping back into a familiar rhythm. They always could communicate without words, and it’s just more proof that Bucky really is in there, no matter how things might seem on the surface. 

Bucky runs his tongue around his mouth, then takes a cautious breath like it’s the first real one he’s drawn in years. “Natalia,” he rasps, face contorting into what might be an attempt at a smile, but looks a hell of a lot more like a pained grimace.

Natasha sucks in a low breath, floored. “You remember me then.”

“My best student.”

Sam’s head snaps between them like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and Steve finds himself doing the same. Student?

But Maria’s voice comes in clear over their earpieces. “Hey guys, I know I said stay put, but you’re about to have company. HYDRA company. At least twenty agents, heavily armed. Get out of there and head north on twenty-nine. I’ll try to arrange a pick up.”

A rocket shoots past them trailing smoke and explodes into a shower of concrete dust and chunks. Steve ducks behind his shield and Bucky throws himself over him anyway.

Steve makes a mental note to ask Natasha about their conversation later. Or Bucky. Or both.

When Natasha sees how Bucky’s reacted, she rolls her eyes just as the bullets start flying.

“Fuck,” she exclaims, casting an exasperated glance at their newest set of assailants. Pulling Bucky up by the straps of his jacket she throws them both behind cover, creating a person-sized dent in the door of the car she slams him against. “If you’re really on our side now, then help us get out of here.”

“Wait, you’re just going to trust him?” Sam yells, ducking behind another stationery vehicle, covered by Steve and his shield.

“Trust? No,” Natasha laughs harshly, “Use, yes. Because in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a bit of trouble here.”

“No, hadn’t noticed that at _all_. Nothing about the guys shooting at us gave that away.”

And Steve would intervene, but he’s kind of busy trying to make sure they don’t all end up lead-infused mincemeat right now. 

Bucky swallows, unsure. “They’re after me too Natalia. I knew the order was incorrect, and I did it anyway. I couldn’t help myself. Never could where Stevie was concerned.”

Steve shoots him a bright smile on hearing his old nickname, and tentatively Bucky smiles back. Natasha glances between them, raising a brow at Steve in a way that communicates they are definitely going to be having words about his choice of partners later tonight.

“So you remember lover boy over there huh?” she asks lightly, and Steve wills Bucky not to answer that. He’d really prefer to break this revelation to Natasha and everyone else sometime when they’re not fighting for their lives—

Bucky’s brows pull together, expression confused, confirming absolutely everything she was angling for. “I, yeah… bits and pieces. It’s all fuzzy. But I swear, if anyone tries to hurt him—” He glares, looking positively murderous and Steve is left in no doubt as to what Bucky will do to anyone trying to hurt him. They’re going to have to talk about that later too.

Natasha takes a few moments to think, but a large calibre bullet punching a hole straight through the car next to Bucky’s head seems to provide the last of the conviction she needs. She gives him a final threatening glare, “Alright. Try anything funny, make any wrong moves, and I will end you. Got that?”

With meek obedience, he nods.

* * *

The fight ends quickly after that. Sam and Natasha might be injured but Bucky’s a hell of a lot more lethal than he used to be, and he seems to take every bullet aimed at Steve _very_ personally. Despite it having been nearly seven decades since they last did this, they still fight like two halves of the same whole, Steve throwing his shield around, automatically covering anywhere Bucky isn’t, and Bucky anticipating and eliminating threats Steve hasn’t even realised are there yet. The difference now is – with his metal arm and an assassin’s reflexes – Bucky makes a pretty good show of wielding the shield too when it happens to come his way.

“Remind me not to get in your way,” Natasha remarks afterward.

They reach the rendevous point and Maria’s there to meet them. She looks askance at Bucky and Steve can’t blame her. Even if his reputation didn’t precede him, he did get a little personal with his knife during the fight and it shows – not in a good way. That much blood is probably enough to give _anyone_ second thoughts.

“When you said the threat was neutralised…” Maria begins.

“Actually I said Captain Rogers was going to explain this one,” Natasha says, looking at him expectantly.

Steve clears his throat. “Yeah um… Hi Maria, this is Bucky. Bucky, Maria. She works with SHIELD, which is kind of what the SSR became after the war. And Maria this is my best friend Bucky, from the Howling Commandos—"

Maria’s expression echoes Sam’s from before. Like she also thinks he’s lost his mind. He’s probably going to have to get used to this kind of reaction, he reflects.

“The Winter Soldier is your long-dead best friend?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Nat shakes her head as though to say that was a terrible explanation, then takes Maria by the arm. “Yeah they’re old war buddies. Veeery _close_. So what are we doing about Project Insight?”

Maria looks uneasily over her shoulder, as though Bucky might take the first opportunity to stab her in the back. Not an entirely unfounded fear Steve has to admit. “About that, there’s actually someone who wants to see you, but I’m not sure if he should be anywhere near ah…” She leaves the sentence hanging, but its obvious who she means.

“I’ll vouch for him,” Steve promises her. “He’s my responsibility.”

With a weary sigh that speaks volumes about the compromises they’re all making to ensure HYDRA doesn’t get Project Insight off the ground, Maria gives in, looking somehow like this isn’t the weirdest thing she’s had to deal with all day.

When they arrive at the safehouse, Steve begins to understand why. 

It turns out Nick Fury is alive. And more than a little pissed off at the entire HYDRA situation. But they don’t have time to spare. Pragmatic as ever, with SHIELD weakened he sees the value as well as the risk in having the Winter Soldier’s help and agrees to have him on the team infiltrating Project Insight. Not before he’s had a temporary kill switch implanted though - under Natasha’s control because as he points out, Steve’s judgement on the matter is clearly compromised.

Steve’s not happy about it, but since it’s the only way Bucky’s going to be allowed to join them, he concedes. No one can argue they don’t need the Winter Soldier’s help on this one. 

The four of them infiltrate the base by stealth, catching HYDRA by surprise and cutting through swathes of agents to swap the targeting chips of two out of three helicarriers before they even have a chance to leave the ground. The third takes off, barely, and they split – Sam and Natasha to disable it, Steve and Bucky to go after Pierce – not without argument of course, but Steve’s not willing to let Bucky go with anyone but himself. Compromised indeed.

They find Pierce at the very top of the Triskelion, watching over the Potomac with a kind of zen calm. Far too much calm for Steve’s liking. So it doesn’t come as much of a surprise when he turns to them, expression triumphant, revealing that the entire building is rigged to blow as soon as the helicopter to extract him arrives. He steps toward Bucky, reciting the beginning of some sequence of words in Russian that set Steve’s teeth on edge with the way they make Bucky freeze, robotic and unnatural.

Of course it would make sense to take Pierce out directly. Stop whatever this is at the source. But Steve also knows Bucky, and something in his manner tells Steve this is a fight he needs to win himself. To believe he _can_. So he settles his hands over Bucky’s ears, pressing their lips together gently until Bucky’s beautiful sky blue eyes are lucid and focused on his again.

Pierce spits a string of curses, glaring at them in obvious surprise. Not the result he was expecting Steve guesses, much less how it was foiled. But all his little speech seems to have achieved is to make Bucky angry. Never exactly calm when Steve’s life was at risk, this new Bucky seems to have a far more tenuous control over all his emotions, snapping between them like a toddler having a tantrum. A by-product of whatever’s been done to him probably – which in and of itself is enough to make Steve’s blood boil.

He’s still unmistakeably Bucky though – just Bucky like when he used to get drunk during the war and whirl Steve around the dance floor, snatching kisses from him in the shadows when he thought no one was looking. Or staring down Peggy fit to kill that one time she showed the slightest hint of interest in Steve. Bucky with no sense of self-preservation. Bucky with no filter.

So when Pierce levels a gun at Steve, Bucky doesn’t hesitate. He surges forward, wrapping his metal fingers calmly around Pierce’s neck, and squeezing until the internal mechanics of his arm whir loudly. Until there’s a sickening crack and Pierce’s body falls to the floor, neck skewed at an odd angle.

It should be shocking, but the best Steve can muster is a kind of detached indifference. That’s certainly one way to solve the problem he supposes, and with everything he’s learnt about Pierce over the last couple of days, he’s not sure taking him alive would really have been a better option. After all, if he was able to infiltrate SHIELD, there’s no telling what he could have orchestrated from a state-run prison cell.

Outside the window, the final helicarrier is falling from the sky in flames, taking Pierce’s supposed ride with it. Sam and Natasha must have been successful then.

“Come on.” Bucky grabs Steve’s hand, leading him back to the elevator. “Let’s get out of here before this place blows or something. I remember what your track record with these things is like, and mine is… well you can probably imagine.”

Steve follows, small tendrils of happiness creeping their way irresistibly into his chest. It’s easy to fall back into the same comfortable pattern they’ve always had – Steve making the plans and giving orders, and when the chips are down, Bucky pulling him out of the fire, time and time again.

God how he’s missed this.

* * *

That night, Bucky sleeps in Steve’s apartment. One glorious night together, relearning the intricacies of each other’s bodies before they have to face up to the world. Steve's hasn’t changed much but Bucky's has, and Steve takes his sweet time exploring exactly how – where the skin knits to the metal of his arm, the countless small nicks and scars from his decades spent as the Winter Soldier, the warm callouses of his real palm, and the smooth cool metal of the other. He delights in testing the arm’s sensitivity, doodling aimless circles along its length, and kissing up to the curve of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath. Not _so_ changed after all then.

“Still like that huh Buck?” Steve says into his throat, teasing.

There’s an indignant huff. “Shut up and get on with it punk.”

He takes Bucky’s lips with his own, drinking in his taste, minus the cigarettes he used to chain-smoke during the war but otherwise unchanged, mellow and oh-so intoxicating. Steve could gladly lose himself in it all night. The shape of his mouth hasn’t changed either, and he still takes the lead, pushing back into Steve a little aggressively, like an assertion of ownership. And God help him but Steve needs this, same way he’s always needed it – to feel this touch, and Bucky inside him, and know he’s home.

* * *

But there’s one last uncomfortable reality to face, and even Bucky’s on board for this one.

“I’m not right Stevie,” he says, lips a little pinched, “I can still feel what they did to me, up here.” He taps his head and Steve grabs at his hand, trying to stop what’s coming, because he doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to lose what he’s only just got back.

“Bucky, no…"

“Steve—”

But there’s no arguing with that tone of voice, and Steve grasps his hands a little tighter, shaking them in frustration.

Bucky reaches out and gently brushes the hair from his forehead, eyes fond. “I know you want to help Steve, but you have to let me do this. I need to know I’m not going to turn on you.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“I _would_. Whatever Pierce was doing, it was the key for something very bad, and if you hadn’t been there—”

“But I _was_ there. I’ll always be there for you Buck.”

Bucky pulls them together, forehead pressed against Steve’s, whispered breaths warm on the air between them, “I know. So be there for me when I wake. Because I have to do this Steve.”

He looks so vulnerable it hurts, but Steve knows he’s right. Gently he slides his fingers beneath Bucky’s chin, lifting it to slant their mouths together in a deep, lingering kiss.

“I will. That’s a promise.”

* * *

“So… shared life experience huh Rogers,” Natasha says, ambushing him from the shadows of the corridor outside Tony’s lab as he leaves after saying goodbye to Bucky.

Steve blushes bright red.

“You should’ve told me I was playing the wrong side trying to set you up with all those women,” she says, clearly failing to hide her amusement.

Steve shrugs. “Didn’t want to stop your fun.”

“Guess I have to lay off now. Your boyfriend might try to kill me again otherwise.”

“Natasha…”

“Don’t bullshit me Rogers. I know what I saw. You two were an item back then weren’t you?”

Steve thinks back to everything they went through – all the nights with the mattress on the floor so the neighbours wouldn’t hear, Bucky chasing skirts just so people wouldn’t suspect, the precious fleeting moments of snatched privacy during the war…

“Yeah, we were.”

Natasha smiles. But there’s no judgement or animosity in it. “I’m happy for you you know. I just wish you’d told me sooner.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

Because it sure seemed like it bothered other people. Bucky’s mere presence was enough to send them into conniptions. And as intimidating as he could be, he’d done nothing to suggest he was a threat to anyone since he’d arrived. It was more than a little unfair Steve thought.

“Not as much as you’d think. He was my trainer, back in Russia. They taught us that emotions and attachment were a weakness we couldn’t afford. But even when he was tough, he was never unkind. I always felt like there was a human in there somewhere, underneath it all. Couldn’t help but like him.”

That explained a lot. “I did wonder how you two knew each other.”

But Natasha ignores the comment with barely a moment’s pause, just as cagey about that time of her life as Steve is about his past with Bucky. “So what now?”

“Well, the psychologists and Tony are working with him. There’s some… latent programming in there I think they called it?”

“He’s still a threat then?”

There might be an element of truth in that, but it’s still not something Steve wants to think about. He just wants to imagine it’s his Bucky he miraculously got back after all this time. But no matter how much he wishes it, it’s not _quite_ true. Bucky’s changed with time, just like he has. “He _could_ be,” he concedes. “In the right circumstances.” Like whatever Pierce had been trying to do.

“Can they fix it?”

Steve smiles, cautiously optimistic. “Well you know Tony. Telling him there’s a problem he can’t solve is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.”

“You didn’t!”

He smiles. “I did. Right before I kissed Bucky as they put him back in cryo.”

Natasha actually squeals at that, punching him on the arm. “No way! You’re telling me I missed seeing Tony’s face when he realised America’s most straight-laced Avenger was kissing a dude?”

“Hey, who are you calling straight-laced?”

She groans dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Please Steve, don’t deny public opinion. At least tell me how he reacted.”

Steve lets it slide, _almost_ won over. “Well he actually shut up for more than a second, so I guess it must have caught him by surprise. Then he went back to tapping those screens of his, and about a minute later threw his hands up in the air wearing the most ludicrous expression and told me, ‘now I have to fix him, because I _need_ to see the fallout when this one goes public’.”

Natasha laughs. “Yeah that sounds like Tony. Will you though? Go public?”

Steve hesitates. “I don’t know… It’s still strange to think we actually _could_.”

“If you do… you won’t be able to hide it though. The fact he was the Winter Soldier. There’ll be a lot of people who don’t like that.” Her voice is a little unsteady, and Steve can hazard a guess she’s speaking from experience. The fallout from SHIELD’s downfall has been hard on them all. Some more than others.

But that’s not what worries him. Not for his own sake anyway. “I know… and it doesn’t bother me. I’ll stand by him no matter what. But it’s not only my decision anymore.”

Natasha’s quiet for a long while. “I’ll stand by you both too. People deserve second chances.”

It means more to him than she could ever know. Steve pats her arm, “Thanks Natasha.”

* * *

As promised, Steve is there when Tony brings Bucky out of cryo-stasis.

“Sleeping beauty’s finally awake!” Tony declares, detaching cables and adjusting settings with manic energy, yet somehow still finding the time raise a brow in Steve’s direction. “Must have been that kiss from the handsome prince huh?”

Unsteady on his feet, Bucky lurches out from the cryo pod and Steve leaps forward to catch him.

“How are we feeling today?” Tony asks, “Not too murderous I hope?”

There’s a dark scowl settling onto Bucky’s face that Steve recognises all too well. “Buck no, he didn’t mean it like that—”

A metal finger plants itself solidly in the centre of Tony’s chest before he has time to back away. Not that he would – he’s cocky like that, just like Howard was. Neither of them liked to show they were rattled.

“You calling my boyfriend handsome Stark?” Bucky demands.

Steve wants to throw a palm over his face. _Dear God, it’s Peggy all over again…_

Tony looks like every wish he’s ever made has just been answered. “Boyfriend eh Rogers?” he says gleefully, catching Steve’s eye. “It’s true then. Didn’t pick you for the Russian mail-order bride type.”

Bucky bristles, glaring. “I’m not Russian, or a dame Stark.”

“No, if you were you might be better looking.”

“Tony!” Steve objects.

“Hey,” Tony holds his hands up, grinning. “I’m not saying anything the American public won’t. It’s not the forties any more. People _will_ find out. Take it from me. Social media can be a less than kind place. Best you’re both prepared.”

“Tony quit it, he’s only just—"

“Hey Stark?” Bucky says, pushing past Steve and pausing just long effect for effect, “Fuck you.” He raises his middle finger and Steve’s heart leaps in his chest. This definitely isn’t the same Bucky he sent off to sleep.

Tony has the gall to look almost impressed. “Frankly, I’d rather you didn’t. Some mouth your boyfriend has Rogers. Very eloquent.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, only half a complaint, because everything about the delivery of those four simple words was shades of the Bucky he remembers from before the war. From the timing, to the attitude, to the way it feels like it’s them against the world again… Seized by a sudden desperate need to make up for lost time, he can’t resist snatching a quick kiss. Bucky kisses him back just as enthusiastically.

Tony makes noise of feigned disgust. “Look, normally I’d be all for steamy sex in my lab, but you’re not exactly the type of hot blond I’m into Rogers, and your boyfriend comes with more baggage than a travelling circus. Kindly relocate elsewhere. The next state over preferably.”

“Yeah I think I’d prefer to fuck him without you watching anyway,” Bucky says, wearing the irreverent grin that couldn’t possibly belong to anyone but him. Now Steve knows he’s just riling Tony up for the hell of it. But more to the point, it’s _working_. Steve couldn’t be more thrilled if Tony suddenly announced he’d discovered time travel and brought back the old Bucky from 1945.

The man himself pinches his nose, gesturing toward the door with an expression of distaste. “Get. Out. _Now_. Before I put that programming right back in your head and turn you into my new personal assistant Barnes.”

Bucky throws him a sloppy salute, same way he always used to with Howard, and he and Steve flee the room laughing like kids in love. Which in a way, is what they are. Because none of this would ever have been possible in their time. They could never have gone out for coffee dates, or kissed in the park, or held hands in public. In hindsight, Steve’s just surprised it takes _so long_ for people to notice.

They announce it to the media a few months after Bucky wakes up, around the same time people start asking questions about who the mysterious new dark-haired Avenger is.

And Natasha and Tony were right, some people don’t take the truth well at all.

So Steve makes a point of asking Bucky to marry him, both to spite the naysayers, and because he always would have, had it been possible. When Bucky accepts, grinning roguishly and punching his shoulder just a little too hard, threatening, “No refunds punk, it’s a one-time deal, you know that right?” – well maybe that’s the best thing Steve’s ever heard.

They seal the deal in Central Park, a summertime wedding with close friends and colleagues. Afterward, as Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his own, admiring the way the ring sits on his finger like it’s always belonged there, he can’t help but think, maybe this whole future thing might be not be so bad after all. Not as long as he’s got a little piece of the past here by his side. 


End file.
